She-Wolf
by thatwhichyields
Summary: Part of the GW Prompts Series: 1x2. Heero and Duo get in a fight over lingerie, specifically, Duo in stockings. Heero is not a fan, or so he thinks.


Part of the GW Prompts series: 1x2, one-shot, gratuitous smut. Prompt was Duo in stockings.

(if _you_ want to choose what I write next, send in a prompt to that-which-yields on tumblr!)

* * *

It started with an argument. In an adventurous mood, Duo suggested that they try something different in the bedroom, and Heero was all for it until the subject of garter belts and lace appeared. It escalated to the neighbors knocking tentatively on the door, concerned about their shouting match, and Heero storming out after his parting blow. And now Duo sits by the window in their empty bedroom, the words ringing through his mind. _If I wanted my lover to wear lingerie, I'd be fucking a woman_.

Come to think of it, they never spoke about that – about their sexuality. All of the pilots know that Duo is bisexual. He's never bothered to hide it, figuring that anyone who is offended by who he is doesn't need to be in his life. He's never asked Heero though, going with the assumption that it didn't matter as long as Heero was satisfied with him. Now, though… what if Heero is attracted to women? Duo can't recall ever seeing Heero with a woman, aside from Relena. Relena was his princess, an untouchable figure of light, and Heero would have died before seeing her in anything other than a holy light. Duo would bet his life that Heero had never fucked her.

Duo's eyes drift across the room to his dresser, to a drawer that he never opened. A combination Halloween, practical joke, and double-dare drawer that held everything from an indecently short plaid mini-skirt to a pair of indecently tight leather shorts. He'd watched Heero head in the direction of the lurid neon signs of the bar… and there was an easy way to answer his question.

This couldn't possibly end badly.

* * *

Heero slumps at the bar, staring mulishly into his tumbler of whiskey. It was a stupid fight that he'd started earlier, a stupid fight over reasons that Duo didn't even know about. It wasn't Duo's fault that the woman at the coffee shop was interesting, that she was pretty and delicate and charming where Duo was solid and reliable and rough around the edges. It wasn't Duo's fault that he grew more anxious with every passing week, with every morning visit to the coffee shop where she flirted a little bit more openly.

He bites his lip, swallowing a gulp of the harsh liquor. It burns down his throat and he winces, wishing it would sear away the lingering darkness of guilt. It wasn't Duo's fault that the girl – Rose – had invited him out to dinner with her, and he was tempted to say yes. It wasn't that Duo was lacking – Duo was perfect, and Heero knew damn well he would never find someone better suited to him. But… Duo was Duo. And Heero had never known anything else. He couldn't suppress the curiosity, the lingering wonderment of what it would feel like to have softness and beauty in his arms, rather than the velvet over steel of Duo's athletic frame.

He glances up out of reflex as the door opens, soldier instincts insisting that he assess the potential threat. He wishes he hadn't. A waking wet dream strolls into the bar, delicate heels clicking across the wooden floor. Her skirt nearly crosses the line into obscenity, a floaty black fabric falling in neat pleats above the – he groans inwardly as his cock begins to respond to the visual stimulus – lace-cuffed thigh-highs. He ducks his head, dragging in a deep breath, scooting his stool closer to the bar in hopes that the over-hanging shadow will conceal his body's betrayal. He can't believe that he's lusting after a woman at a time like this. Duo's _well maybe you should_ response floats across his mind, and it's ironic that, after they had a fight about lingerie, this insanely attractive creature should appear in his sulking location.

_I don't care if Duo angrily said that I should fuck a woman¸_ Heero grumbles to himself. _I am not cheating on my boyfriend._

Still, he can't help stealing a second glance at the woman, who is now leaning over the bar in a gesture that can't be mistaken for anything but suggestive. That damnable skirt rides up her thighs, flashing creamy skin above her stockings and, holy fuck, a minute twitch of red lace. Heero swallows, hard, and slams back the remainder of his drink. He calls out to the bartender at the same time as a husky voice orders a drink, and his eyes meet the black-rimmed gaze of the woman. The dark, smoky eyes are familiar, lit with interest as they glide over him.

He smooths his shirt self-consciously, wishing that he'd changed out of his worn t-shirt and jeans so old that the knees were fraying out. Duo has a thing for his comfortable, lazy day clothes, but Duo has also seen him broken and bleeding on the floor of his Gundam's cockpit. He can't place why she seems familiar to him, as he's positive he would remember the flush rising on those devastating cheekbones, the tongue flicking out to moisten reddened lips.

And then a tiny smile curls those crimson curves, a smolder leaping in those darkened eyes, and arousal swamps him. He doesn't care if he knows her. He doesn't care if she knows him. He doesn't care if the room is getting a bit fuzzy as he downs his fourth drink. He is going to stand up, walk out the door, and go home to Duo. Explain everything. He doesn't care about the stunning brunette with the, fuck, ponytail long enough to wrap around his hand as her fuck-me red lips are wrapped around his dick. No matter that long hair is one of his hot buttons. He doesn't care that, oh fuck, she's slid from her stool and is coming over to say hi.

She slips onto the stool next to him with deceptive grace, crossing her legs in a motion that makes her skirt ride perilously close to that scrap of red lace she revealed earlier. It takes a gundanium will to keep his eyes from dropping to those long, long legs, to the silken sheen of those stockings and the delicate wrap of lace about her slender thigh. But lifting his eyes will mean passing the skintight violet shirt hugging her flat stomach, passing breasts that are all the harder to ignore since they're virtually a mystery to him.

He stares at his drink instead, eyes determinedly fixed on the amber liquid. The bartender passes her a glass filled with a similarly colored liquid and she lifts it in a long-fingered hand.

"Cheers," she offers, in a throaty voice that set's Heero's blood aflame.

"Cheers," he mutters sullenly, cursing his inability to get up and walk away from this siren.

He taps his glass against hers, still avoiding her eyes, and tosses back the alcohol inside, warmth flooding his already overheated system. But he doesn't pull away when her hand falls on his shoulder, sliding down to squeeze his bicep lightly.

"Oh my," she purrs quietly, so their conversation is inaudible to the others in the bar. "What's someone with this body doing alone?"

Her hand drops to his knee, pressing lightly on the twitching muscle of his thigh before her fingers creep upward, slowly approaching his aching dick. And yes, he's more than tempted to let her, to let that lithe body pleasure him, to strip that insanely short skirt and that shirt the color of Duo's eyes off of her, to see if she has a butterfly tattoo on her lower back and hear the noises she makes when she comes. Fuck, is he tempted.

But he has Duo waiting at home, has a lover who's stayed with him through everything, has a man who understands even the darkest corners of his soul. He never has to explain to Duo why he wakes screaming from nightmares, why the fourth of July makes him panic. Duo is always there, without him asking, bringing him a mug of tea and sliding into bed to let him be the little spoon. He has Duo, who he definitely doesn't deserve on a night like this, nearly letting himself be seduced by a stranger in a bar.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I … you're gorgeous. Really. I have to go."

He forces himself off the stool, staggering slightly as his body processes exactly how much alcohol he drank. He pauses at the end of the bar to pay his tab, decidedly not glancing back at the woman who nearly made him lose the best thing he's ever had. His breath is coming in pants, body protesting the loss of that tantalizing hand.

He gives in, then, as he nears the door, turning back for one last look. She's gone, their corner of the bar empty. Smothering the pang of disappointment, he steps out into the darkness, hoping that the chill breeze of midnight will cool his overheated blood. If he returns to their shared house with a hard-on from some stranger at a bar, he might as well pack his bags. Duo would kill him. He turns the corner into the shadowed alley, pausing to swipe his hand across his brow. He can't go home in this condition.

Slumping against the side of the building, he heaves a sigh and tries in vain to calm his racing heart. The woman's perfume still lingers in his nose, a mouth-watering combination of sweet and spicy that undoes any attempt to put his libido to sleep. And then she is there, appearing in the streetlight's glow like a goddamn godsend. She steps into the alley and places hand on his shoulder, those lollipop red lips pursed in concern.

"I didn't mean to run you off. I just, pardon my French, thought you were so fucking hot…"

His self-control evaporates, the alcohol fueled momentum of his libido surging to the forefront of his mind. Before he can get a grip on his impulse, he has her pinned to the building by her shoulders, his mouth latched over her lips. He nips at her lower lip, drawing a familiar breathy groan from her throat, and her hands come up to lace into the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulls him closer, her tongue darting into his mouth to tangle with his.

He braces his hands against the wall and flattens her between the brick façade and the unyielding planes of his body. His cock presses against the confines of the soft denim of his jeans and he grinds it against her thigh, unthinking, uncaring of the chilled gaze of the stars. It's only as he separates from her lips with a tortured gasp, fingers gripping convulsively at the edges of a crumbling brick, that he registers the hardness meeting his stroke for stroke. He rests his forehead on hers, the sweat beading on his brow sticking to her bangs. His heart is racing, slamming against his ribs, and he's surprised it's not audible in the close quarters of the alley.

"Fuck, Heero…" the person breathes, head thrown back, mahogany hair dampening with the heat of their bodies.

He never told her his name. He never told… and her hand is drifting down, ghosting over the bulge in his pants, fingers cupping it exactly the way that he likes. He glances down into laughing amethyst eyes, reaching beneath the skirt to find his lover's dick sheathed in lace, skin smooth as satin sheets.

"Duo," he whispers, groaning at the answering squeeze of his partner's hand.

"Want you. Now," Duo gasps, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the column of Heero's throat.

He presses a tube into Heero's empty hand, reaching down to slick Heero's cock with lube. Heero shreds the scrap of lace blocking his access to Duo's hardness, dropping the lube as his fingers unerringly find Duo's entrance. He finds his lover already slick and muffles a moan on Duo's shoulder, heat flooding him as he realizes how well Duo had prepared for this.

Cupping his hands beneath Duo's ass, he lifts the smaller man until his cock is nestled against Duo's pucker. Duo's hands scrabble for purchase at the fabric of his shirt, one hand fisting above his heart as the other slowly pumps his own shaft. Heero sinks home into Duo's body, letting gravity sheath him fully. A breathless whine escapes Duo's lips, crimson smeared around his mouth from the intensity of their earlier kiss. Bracing his lover against the wall, Heero begins to move, thrusting raggedly as pleasure whitens his vision.

"Not gonna last," Duo stutters, his hand moving rapidly over his cock.

"'s fine. Come for me, Duo. Please."

Heat blasts through Heero as Duo tightens down on him, restricting his movement. Duo climaxes with Heero's name on his lips, fingers digging into his chest, seed splashing over his hand and Heero's shirt. Heero manages only a few more halting thrusts before he buries himself deeply, falling over the edge with a hoarse shout. His head falls onto Duo's shoulder and they remain tangled together for a moment, letting their breath return to normal.

He looses his grip to let Duo slide back to the ground, heels landing with a sharp click. Duo twitches his skirt back down, reaching to retrieve the shredded red lace g-string. He slips it into Heero's pocket with a saucy wink, standing on tip toe to press a kiss to his lips.

"So… stockings?"


End file.
